


Reasonable Concessions

by Wagontrain



Series: Steel Against Steel [1]
Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Dark, F/M, Gen, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:52:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wagontrain/pseuds/Wagontrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the disappearance of the Lone Wanderer, Amata and Sarah work to find the balance between their desires and their duties.</p>
<p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/17186">Messiah in Absentia</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reasonable Concessions

“Open it up.”

Amata Almodovar stood before the massive cog blast door separating Vault 101 from the outside world. Once that door had been where her world ended, before Soledad and her father fled, before Jackson forced his way back in. She’d learned that the world was bigger than she ever could have believed, and she was beginning to come to terms with that. 

At the console to her right, Officer Richards keyed in the sequence to release the massive door. “Stay safe out there, Amata,” he said. 

“I will,” she shouted back over the din of metal grinding metal. “Paul is acting Overseer until I get back. If there’s any trouble at all, send a signal on the emergency band and I’ll be back as fast as I can.” She tapped the heavy Pipboy strapped to her wrist. “Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.” She walked through the massive portal and down the rude rock tunnel that connected the Vault to the outside world, pushing the rickety wooden door open and stepping into the Wasteland’s dying sunlight.

“Oh! Hello there!” Amata’s eyes adjusted to the glare of the sun beginning to slip below the horizon and just made out the figure of Moira Brown. “I was just about to ring the bell! So to speak, of course. I know those Vaults don’t _really_ have bells. Usually not much for visitors.”

Amata smiled at the other woman’s enthusiasm. “Good afternoon, Moira. Come to teach the Lamplighters?” She tightened the straps on her pack.

“You know, I _have_.” Moira grinned ear to ear. “Today we’re going to learn about _nutrition_. Oh, I know you fancy Vault people know all about vitamins and protein and all that stuff, but I’m sure those poor kids growing up in a cave just had no idea! Did you know they mostly ate fungus?”

“I didn’t, actually,” Amata answered lightly. When Jackson’s League imploded, Amata had made the decision to take in all the Little Lamplighters who he’d rounded up for education. The man had been a horrible fascist, but she couldn’t deny that he’d done right by those children and there was no way she’d let them go back to squatting in a cave when there were warm beds in Vault 101. If nothing else, it was good to hear the sound of children in the Vault again. Other than Susie and Freddie’s baby, the Vault hadn’t seen any new blood since Amata, Butch, Paul and the rest had been born.

The thought of Butch brought her up cold, as it always did. He’d tried to kill Jackson, and while Amata certainly appreciated wanting the man dead she wished he hadn’t been so _stupid_ about it. Susie had been there, and said Jackson sent Butch to Paradise Falls, but when Amata went there herself the crazy woman in the pink dress told her she didn’t know anyone by the name of Butch. He was in there, Amata was sure. If he was still alive at all. But without an army or a mountain of caps -and the idea of using _bottlecaps_ as a currency was still strange- she’d never get him back.

Amata picked her way down the overlook trail towards the paved road left by Jackson’s constructor robots. He may have been a bastard, Amata reflected, but he’d shaken a lot of things up for the better in the Capital Wastelands. The network of roads ran around the DC ruins, making it easy to get from one settlement to the next. The raiders hadn’t ever recovered from the purges Bittercup carried out, and no one lived in fear of being eaten by super mutants anymore. The Wasteland was still a difficult, lethal place to live, but it had gotten to be just a little bit easier. _Thanks for that, at least,_ Amata thought. _You monster._

A cry went up as Amata reached the base of the footpath. The Shrine of the Wanderer here was the largest of anywhere in the Capital Wasteland, and there were always pilgrims here. Each came for their own reasons. Some, dressed in the tattered long coat and stormchaser hat that the Wanderer wore in the legends sought to emulate her by performing random acts of kindness out in the Wastes. Others sought the Shrine as a simple reminder, that it was possible to rise above all the violence and hate in the Wasteland. The last few, like Amata, came hoping for insight and maybe to pray that the Wasteland Savior would return.

Sometimes the pilgrims would approach her, looking for some sliver of insight about the Wanderer. The attention had been almost overwhelming at first. Soledad had helped so many people and changed so many lives that a following, almost a religion emerged after her disappearance. Amata had found it unsettling to be questioned so thoroughly about her childhood friend, but eventually she realized that their intentions were good: the people seeking to know more about the Wasteland Savior did so because they idolized her. 

Amata looked over the Shrine, an ugly mass of garbage and wreckage fused into the crude tableau of a woman with a rifle strapped to her back and a dog at her side that someone had decided was a symbol for the Lone Wanderer. _Where are you?_ Amata wondered. _You can’t be dead. You can’t be._ Soledad had been invaluable in putting an end to the Amata’s father’s powermongering, but after everything that happened, there was no way Amata could let her stay in the Vault. Just like she’d changed the Wasteland Soledad changed the Vault, and more than was safe. She had to leave, but the necessity of it hadn’t made the devastated look on her childhood friend’s face any easier. Soon after, Soledad disappeared from the Capital Wastelands entirely. Some said she’d traveled west, some said she’d finally run into something bigger and nastier than her. Some said she’d been abducted by aliens.

Regardless, it had been five years since anyone had last seen her. She was gone.

“I miss you,” Amata whispered. “I wish you were here. I’m _sorry._ ”

Eventually she turned away from the Shrine, following the paved road east to Megaton and arriving as the gloom of twilight began to overtake the fading light of day. The robot outside stuttered its way through a greeting, and Amata waved at Stockholm at his watchpost on top of the walls. Inside, Megaton was the same bewildering mess of metal, dirt and people, and not for the first time Amata was thankful for the Vault-Tec full-spectrum vaccinations that every Vault citizen received. She’d spend more and more time here over the past months and still never adjusted to how plain _filthy_ the place was. Never mind the bomb sitting in the middle of town.

“Hey Miss Almodovar!” 

Harden Simms ran up to her, caked in grime and grinning ear to ear. His smile was something that Amata was happily _not_ inoculated to. “Hello, Harden. Where’s your dad?”

“Back at our place,” the boy clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels like the effort of staying in place and talking with her was taking every ounce of his will. “He told me to go play with Maggie and not to come back until late, so I figured you’d be coming by.” He spied Maggie down in the town’s pit, near Doc Church’s store, and bolted. “See you bye!”

“Told him not to come back until late, did he?” Amata murmured, the corners of her lips quirking. She made her way up the rickety walkways to the Simms home and knocked on the door, brushing flakes of rusted metal off her knuckles. Lucas answered the door a moment later and grinned just as wide as his son’s. “Amata. Come on it.”

Amata followed him inside and shrugged off her pack. “I brought dinner,” she said, rummaging through and producing a tightly-wrapped bundle. 

“Reconstituted meat protein?” Lucas asked drily. “My favorite.” Despite his teasing he laid out a pair of plates; on their first meal he’d tried to serve her steaks of fire ant meat with the hopes of impressing her with the spicy exotic food of the Wasteland. Unfortunately, Amata had only ever eaten Vault food, and her delicate constitution wasn’t up to the challenge of broiled insect. They’d played it safe ever since. “You know, Moriarty has been asking after you. Talking about wanting to expand, maybe open up another bar in your Vault. I told him you wouldn’t be interested…”

“Well…” Amata thought for a moment. “I could see the use. It’d tie Megaton and the Vault closer together, and provide something fresh.” She raised an eyebrow at the man. “You have no idea what it’s like seeing the same people and same places over and over again your entire life. Might be worth putting up with whatever scheming he’s up to.” Amata laid the food out on each of their plates, sitting down across from Lucas. “But sheriff, please tell me you didn’t just invite me over to talk business.”

“No, Ms. Almodovar, I believe invited you over to share breakfast together.” Lucas fought to keep the smile off his face. “But here you are, a good number of hours early. What do you think we should do until then?”

Amata felt a grin break over her face. “What indeed! I’m sure we’ll think of some way to pass the time.”

*

Sarah Lyons absolutely _hated_ being without her power armor.

She sat alone in a dark, dirty room, clad only in a thin shirt and pants. The Brotherhood of Steel Outcasts demanded she come to them alone and defenseless, and Sarah couldn’t actually blame them. With all the bad blood that had been spilled between the Outcasts and Elder Lyons’ Brotherhood, she wouldn’t have allowed them to walk into the Citadel armed and armored either. 

Her father told her that her _real_ armor for this mission was diplomacy. Sarah would trade ‘diplomacy’ for two inches of polylaminate composite in a heartbeat, but unfortunately it wasn’t really her choice.

The door at the far end of the room swung open, and Protector Henry Casdin strode in. He, of course, wore a full suit of power armor and carried his helmet under his arm, painted red and black in the Outcasts’ colors. “Good evening, Sarah,” he said.

“Henry,” she answered, not unkindly. Growing up in the Brotherhood meant she had been close everyone, and Casdin had been like an uncle to her growing up. Even though she didn’t trust the Outcasts, they were still family. 

“Did Owen send you out here to talk to us again?” Casdin asked, sitting down across from her. His chair protested at the weight of his armor. “More about the importance of being heroes to the people and saving the day?”

“Something like that,” Sarah allowed. 

“All right,” Casdin crossed his arms. “What’s your pitch for today?”

The attempt was doomed before she started, but she had to try anyway. “What’s the good of stockpiling all this technology just to leave it sitting around?” she asked. “When we got Liberty Prime running, we turned it on the Enclave. When we got Project Purity running, we gave the water to the people. Devices have uses, purposes, and we’re wasting them to leave them sitting inert in a storage closet somewhere.” 

“The Brotherhood has a mission, and it doesn’t include cuddling the wildlife out here,” Casdin countered. “ _We_ are the only ones who can understand and use the Old World technology out there, so it falls to _us_ to be its custodians.” He sighed. “Sarah, I love your father like a brother, but he’s lost the mission. Think about it. You cleared out the super mutant nest yourself. The DC ruins are more or less clear, and has he even made mention of mounting an expedition to the Museum of Technology?”

“Plans are in the works,” Sarah replied. It wasn’t entirely a lie; her Lyons’ Pride had made it a game to fantasize about the wonders stored in the Museum, and the dangers they’d face to recover them. Elder Lyons, for his part, forbade any missions into the DC ruins and ordered the Pride on endless runs protecting water shipments from raiders and the Talon Company.

“I’m sure he’ll come around soon,” Casdin said drily. 

Sarah rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Not convincing you, am I?”

“Not for lack of trying,” he answered. “But it was good seeing you.”

“You too. I’ll be back again next week then.”

Casdin escorted her to the base’s front door, where two Outcast paladins watched her strap her armor back into place. She felt a bit more human with its weight tight around her body. Outside, two the her Lyons’ Pride paladins waited for her, weapons nervously at the ready. Family though they were, no one would have been terribly surprised if the Outcasts tried to take Sarah hostage. She couldn’t decide if putting her at such risk was a sign of her father’s faith in her, or his blind optimism. 

They made their way back to the Citadel, unmolested except for a few stupid, feral dogs. She examined the crumbling building as they entered. It had weathered the nuclear holocaust of the Great War surprisingly well, all things considered, but ‘surprisingly well’ meant it was only a few steps above an outright ruin. It was clean, at least. A lot of work had gone into making the living areas more livable, with the random debris swept up and lighting fixtures bolted to the walls rather than left as standing lamps. 

The Brotherhood had made a number of changes since Jackson marched into the Citadel four years ago and declared that the Brotherhood would be working for him. _For one thing, we don’t just let any asshole with a plan inside anymore._ Sarah felt a familiar fury twist in her gut. Jackson had forced the Brotherhood’s cooperation - _Sarah’s_ cooperation- by slapping an explosive collar on Arthur Maxson. No one was willing to risk the life of a child, let alone the heir to the Maxson legacy. 

She’d made him pay for threatening Arthur. The only regret she had about the bloody end of Jackson’s rule over the Capital Wasteland was that she hadn’t been there in person to see the super mutants tear him limb from limb. 

Sarah climbed the stairs to the B-Ring barracks and knocked softly on Arthur’s door. Despite the hour he pulled it open and smiled up at her. “You’re back! Did you have a big battle with the Outcasts?”

“We don’t want a battle with them,” Sarah replied easily, letting herself into his room. His bed was a mess, and his desk was covered with an open copy of Dean’s Electronics and a mostly-disassembled laser pistol. She’d _never_ been able to convince him to keep his area straight. “Some of those people changed your diapers.”

Arthur didn’t hear her, on purpose she suspected. Gone was the boy who claimed that he was nothing special; in his place was a fifteen year old who had begun to see the Maxson legacy as a super power. “ _I_ think that if we had one big fight they’d have to join us again. I’d make them.” Sarah could almost see the fantasies of glory racing though his adolescent mind. “We Maxsons forged the Brotherhood, and it’ll be Maxsons who keep it together despite these traitors.”

“Don’t rush to grow up just yet,” Sarah said softly, ruffling his hair. “There’ll be plenty of wars for you to fight later. For now, let’s…let’s keep you safe.”

“I don’t want to be safe.” He puffed out his chest. “There’s _nothing_ the Brotherhood can’t beat. I’m a Maxson, _nothing_ can hurt me.”

“Not as long as I’m alive,” Sarah promised, smiling wanly at him. “All right. It’s well past lights-out for squires. Unless you want to take an overnight watch?” Arthur shook his head. “I didn’t think so.” She planted a kiss on his forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“G’night Sarah.”

She flicked off the lights and stood framed in the doorway, watching Arthur settle into his bed. “Good night,” she whispered.

*

Amata woke suddenly, trying to understand what brought her out of her dream. She lay pressed close against Lucas’ body, tangled in the blankets. It was comfortable, and the stresses of being the Vault’s Overseer were somewhere far away. Lucas’ bed was always a safe escape for her.

“Sheriff Simms!”

There was rude reality intruding again. Lucas sat up next to her, groggy but shaking of sleep quickly. “Always something,” he grumbled, stumbling to his feet and casting about for his pants. “I swear, if Moira’s started trying to domesticate radscorpions again I’m going to have her put in stocks.” 

Amata pulled the sheets up to cover her nakedness as Lucas stomped downstairs. “This had better be _real_ important,” she heard him growl. 

“Stockholm said you’d want to come out,” Billy Creel answered him. “Said there’s a whole squad of Talon Company coming down Jackson’s Road to the east.”

Lucas swore at that, low and angry. “Tell Stockholm I’ll be right out. And find me Jericho. If he’s sober enough to hold a rifle, tell him he’ll get his normal caps if he’s out there too.” 

Amata was back in her underwear and pulling on her Vault jumpsuit by the time he made it back upstairs. “Trouble?”

“Talon Company’s always trouble,” he scowled, finding his shirt and coat on the floor. Amata handed him his rifle and hat as they headed back outside. “I want you staying back here in Megaton. That blue and yellow’s gonna attract too much attention.”

“No argument here,” she replied. She thought for a moment to give Lucas a kiss goodbye, but held back when she saw his posture; tense, eyes calculating. In his head he was already gone, planning out the fight ahead. “Good luck.”

Amata watched as Lucas collected Jericho and Billy, and headed out through the settlement’s gate with Deputy Weld. She climbed the catwalks up to Megaton’s ramparts where Stockholm crouched, peering through his rifle’s scope. He spared her a glance. “Best keep your head down, miss. Some of these Talon fuckers are real good shots.”

She knelt down next to him. “Any idea what they’re after?” Over the barrier she could just make out a cluster of black-armored mercenaries making their way down the paved road towards Megaton.

“Talon doesn’t do things by half measures,” Stockholm scowled, “and they don’t…excuse me.” His rifle _cracked_ , and one of the Talons dropped dead. “Sorry. They don’t just head out for nothing. They’re up to something.” 

“They’re taking something out of their bags,” Amata muttered, squinting into the distance. “Can’t make out-”

“Head down, miss,” Stockholm snapped, shoving her down behind the wall as a barrage of bullets slammed against the barriers. “Seems the dead one’s buddies spotted us.”

A moment later return fire started: Lucas and Jericho flanking from the north of the road, Billy and Weld from the south. The Talons held their ground long enough to finish fiddling with whatever came out of their packs before beating a retreat back down the road. Amata could hear Jericho screaming profanities after them and Lucas roaring at him to get back.

A deafening roar rattled Megaton’s walls, and Amata barely caught herself before the force of the explosion tossed her off the catwalk. She scrambled back to the wall, leaning over and looking desperately for Lucas. The Talon Company mercenaries were already disappearing into the darkness, and a massive, smoldering crater marred the width of the perfectly smooth road. Lucas was nowhere to be seen.

Amata swore under her breath, racing down the catwalks. “Doc Church!” she yelled, racing past his clinic on her way the main gates. She made it outside and ran along the settlement’s perimeter, casting about for survivors. “Lucas? Jericho? _Lucas?!_ ”

“Here, Amata. Quiet your yelling.” Lucas hauled himself up off the ground, shaking dirt and debris free of his coat. “Making yourself a target.” 

“Aw, give him a hug,” Jericho muttered from his spot on the ground. “Hey robot! You all right?”

“Aff-ermative,” Weld beeped back.

“I’m fine too,” Billy said, using Weld’s arm to pull himself up. 

“Yeah, fuck you.” Jericho eyed the blasted ruin of the road. “They did a real number on the freeway here,” he said to Lucas.

“Yeah, they did.” Lucas frowned. “They weren’t after casualties at all. Just stuck a Fatman on the road and blew it.”

Amata reflexively checked the Geiger counter on her Pipboy: sure enough, radiation ticked from the crater. “That road connects Megaton and the Vault to the east. To the water from Project Purity.”

Lucas nodded. “Getting that water just got a bit more difficult. But we did it before Jackson’s road, we’ll do it after.”

“Well! Look here!” Jericho crowed. He was pointing at one of the Talon bodies on the ground, and Amata realized he was still moving. “Got ourselves a bona fide _survivor._ What do you say we just ask him, sheriff?”

“I don’t like how you ask questions,” Lucas said, scowling. 

Jericho scowled right back. “Might work better than your usual ‘ask their names then let them go when they flick you off’ trick. Seems to me we just ask ‘em a little harder, we might get some answers.”

“I _said_ I don’t…” Lucas stopped as Amata put her hand on his shoulder. 

“Blowing up the road cuts us off. Makes it that much harder to get water, for support from the Brotherhood to reach us,” she said. “That puts the Vault in danger, and I want to know why.”

Lucas stared hard at her. This wasn’t the first time he’d run up against her determination to protect her Vault, and he knew she wasn’t going to back down. “All right. Fine. Just drag him far enough out that they can’t hear him in town.” 

“You know I’m gonna torture the shit out of him, right?” Jericho asked as Lucas stalked away. 

Amata suppressed a shiver at his leer. “I need to know what this means for the Vault.” With effort, she forced her feet to begin walking towards the wounded Talon.

“Huh,” Jericho grunted. “You Vaulties got more spine than I woulda figured.”

“Met a bunch of us?”

“Just you and the Wanderer.” Jericho shrugged. “Figured a scared little thing like her’d get raped to death by the first pack of raiders she came across, but turns out she had spine too.” He stopped next to the mercenary, towering over him. “All right. Listen up. I’m Jericho, this here’s Amy.”

“Amata.”

“Whatever.” Jericho crouched down to strike a match off a rock, bringing it up to light a battered cigarette. “Her ‘n me, we got a couple questions for you. Why you’re out here, who you’re working for, what the fuck your problem is. Usual stuff.”

The man spat blood up at Jericho, but weakly. Amata could see a laser hit burned through the chestplate of his armor. “Haynes. Corporal. PA-752039.”

Jericho glance up at Amata. “Welp. I asked nice-like.” He grabbed Haynes by his armor’s pauldron and dragged him away from the lights of Megaton, into the darkness. “You coming?”

_He could be a danger to the Vault,_ Amata reminded herself. _Sometimes Overseers have to do horrible things to make sure the Vault is safe. And I’m the Overseer._ She followed Jericho out to a barren stretch of dirt a good bit out from the settlement and watched as he stripped the Talon naked. She watched as Jericho whispered soft questions. She watched as Haynes sputtered out his name and rank, and she watched as Jericho carved his dissatisfaction into the man’s flesh. She watched as Haynes broke, quietly, sobbing words without sense or context. She watched as he died, and she did not once look away, even as she fought to keep her gorge down.

“So what the hell’s a ‘Keystone?’” Jericho asked, rising from his bloody work.

“It’s a…” Amata swallowed hard, trying to keep her bile down. “It’s the top of an arch. All the other stones lean on it. And I think it used to be the symbol of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, before the War. Don’t know what it means here.”

“They teach you all that in Vault school?” Jericho smirked.

Amata found herself having a hard time pulling her eyes from the ruined mess of a man. “Yeah. Look, let’s…what did he say? About the people from 101?”

“That there was a bounty for you all, dead or alive.” Jericho shrugged. “Something about scaring you back into the Vault, but who knows. He was starting to lose it by then.”

“Okay.” Amata nodded jerkily. “Let’s get back to Megaton.” With that she turned back towards the light of town, and walked as fast as she could without breaking into a run.

*

Elder Lyons was just where she expected he’d be: in the Citadel’s command center, pacing in front of the wall map of the Capital Wasteland. Sarah stopped a respectful distance behind him, watching as he peered at the map. “It’s not enough,” he said eventually.

“What do you mean, father?”

“Our patrols.” He turned to face her. “We have squads moving between each of the major settlements at all hours, but somehow over the past week Talon Company has attacked the roads at several locations, leaving them devastated. We need to be doing more to stop this.”

“Father…” Sarah began. He looked at her expectantly, and she sighed. “We can’t be everywhere. And we shouldn’t be! The Wastelanders need to learn to defend themselves rather than relying on us to do everything for them. For one thing, there are simply too few of us.” 

“We’ve talked about this before,” Elder Lyons beckoned Sarah to follow him as he made his way across the command center. “What good is all our technology if we don’t use it to help people?”

“And I agree. Completely. But more and more our patrols are being met with hostility than the admiration we deserve. We beat the Enclave, we beat the super mutants, we beat _Jackson._ ” Sarah scowled. “The Wastelanders glare at us _as we’re giving them clean water._ There’s no respect.”

She held open the door to the central courtyard for Elder Lyons. “It’s true that we’re viewed as…well, as aloof. The faceless helmets probably don’t help.”

_Faceless helmets that saved their lives more times than they’ll ever know._ “They should know us by our actions.”

“True, true.” Elder Lyons led her down the line of gunnery lanes, watching initiates practice with laser rifles. “Still, when Jackson was still alive, we had a common foe to prove ourselves against. Now, the disparate groups in the Wasteland are too absorbed in their own interests to help each other, or join us.”

Sarah fought the urge to roll her eyes. “We can’t force them to be better people, father. They’re too self-interested to save themselves, and that will never change.”

“Excuse me? Sirs?” One of the nearby initiates held his rifle at ease, turning to face both Lyons. Sarah recognized him: Stepford, one of the Wastelanders recruited to bolster the Brotherhood’s numbers after the losses after the short war against the Enclave. _Another one of Father’s questionable decisions that makes it impossible for the Outcasts to reconcile with us._

“Finished your drills yet, Stepford?” she demanded.

“No ma’am. Sorry ma’am.” The initiate shouldered his rifle again, but Elder Lyons held up his hand. 

“Just a moment, please. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s just…” Stepford shrugged. “I’m sorry sir, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and you’re not _exactly_ right. The League died with Jackson, but those Vaulties seem to have been trying to keep up the connections he made. I’ve heard their Overseer has been expanding trade and communication with Megaton, Rivet City and a couple other places. If there’s anyone holding the Capital Wastes together these days, it’s her.”

“Hmm.” Elder Lyons stroked his beard, nodding. “Officer thinking, initiate. Return to your drills.” He began walking again, and Sarah followed at his side. “There’s an idea there.” 

“I’ve spoken with the people from the Vault before,” Sarah said. “Seem like good folk, though I don’t know what they’d be able to offer us.”

“Have you thought about Arthur, Sarah? His future?” 

The question brought her up short. _Every day,_ she thought. Out loud: “Of course. He’s already demonstrated a proficiency of our history and a basic understanding of the technology we commonly use. He’ll make an excellent paladin, in a few years.”

“He’s a Maxson,” her father mused. “It’s important that his line -the line of the man who founded our order- continue. And what better way to bind the Brotherhood to the Capital Wasteland than by marriage?”

Sarah replayed his words in her mind. They made sense individually, but together? _‘Marriage?’_ She felt her jaw slacken, and shut her mouth with a snap. “ _What?”_

If Elder Lyons noticed her bewilderment, he gave no indication. “It makes sense. The Vault citizens are well-educated, healthy, and a stabilizing force in the Wasteland. They would benefit from our support, we would benefit from their relationship with the Wastelanders.”

“You can’t be serious,” Sarah sputtered. “You’re talking about…about selling him for…for what? Image?”

“The Brotherhood is here to stay, Sarah,” her father said, not unkindly. “We need to integrate. We’ve been aloof too long. And honestly, we need to think of the Maxson legacy. Arthur is young now, but some day he’s going to need a child of his own to carry on.”

_He expects Arthur to have sex with the Overseer?!_ “He’s only fifteen.”

“As I said, some day.” Elder Lyons turned to Sarah, placing his hands on her armor’s paldrons. “The Maxson line must continue. You knew this would happen eventually.”

Sarah shook her head. _It’s not supposed to happen until he’s thirty and I’m well into my dotage!_ “I…Father…the Overseer isn’t…she isn’t of the Brotherhood…”

“It’s all right, Sarah.” Her father drew her into a hug, awkward around her power armor. “Children have to grow up eventually, and sometimes that means letting them go.”

Sarah let herself relax into the hug, but her mind was reeling with rage and confusion. But through the internal maelstrom, one word was clear.

_Never._

*

Amata avoided Lucas for eight days after the Talon attack.

When she did finally meet with him again it was in the bright of day, just outside Moriarty’s Saloon after she met with the bar owner to talk about opening a pub inside the Vault. Lucas hadn’t asked what happened to the Talon mercenary, and Amata hadn’t apologized. There was nothing to apologize for: the Vault always came first. Even when it turned her stomach, it always came first.

Later that day, Amata sat in the Overseer’s office -her office- reading over the letters from her scouts. From the north in Canterbury Commons, John Kendall found people open to the idea of trading with the Vault, while to the west the teenagers of Big Town threw a party when Paul’s dad arrived. Whatever else she’d done, it seemed that Soledad had left Vault 101 with a very good reputation among the people of the Wasteland, and Amata planned to leverage every ounce of that towards establishing support for the Vault among the other communities.

Child’s babbling heralded Susie Mack’s approach, and Amata looked up into to see little Sean Gomez toddle into her office. “Get back here, you!” Susie said, corralling her runaway son. “Hey, Richards sent me to get you. There’s a situation up front.”

“’Situation’ can mean so many different things,” Amata replied, coming around her desk to pick Sean up. “You are getting so big! How are you so big?”

“Brotherhood of Steel. A couple of them. Say they want to talk to you.”

Amata looked up from the toddler. “Brotherhood? Well.” She reached for the intercom, her hand hovering over the switch. “I’m sure their purpose is peaceful, but…why don’t you and Sean head down to your quarters, and pass the word for everyone else as well? Quietly?”

Susie nodded. “All right.”

Amata watched her go, and flicked the intercom switch. “Richards? Please escort our guests to my office.” _What the hell do they want?_

She didn’t have long to wonder. The ringing footsteps of power armored boots heralded the outsider’s approach, and Amata rushed around to sit behind her desk. No use in letting them think they had her rattled, especially since she was so _very_ rattled. The last time someone in power armor came into the Vault…well, best not to think about Jackson now. A moment later two women in the iconic green Brotherhood armor entered the room; one white with blonde hair and the other African-American with hair cut almost to edges. Both scanned the room quickly before standing aside to allow a bearded man in a blue robe to pass. “Ms. Almodovar,” he said, extending a hand. “I am Elder Lyons, of the Eastern chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Amata said, rising from her chair to take his hand. He was old, as old as Old Lady Palmer, and Amata gestured to the chairs across from her. “Sit down.”

“We’ll stand,” the first woman replied acidly. 

“My daughter, Sentinel Lyons,” the Elder said. If he noticed her caustic tone, he ignored it. “And my seneschal, Paladin Cross. Neither are prone to relaxation while in the field. It’s hardly intended as a comment on your hospitality.”

“Of course,” Amata said. The sentinel glared daggers at her, and Amata cleared her throat. “What brings you to the Vault, Elder?”

“I suspect,” the older Lyons said, steepling his fingers, “that the culture of the Vault here must be similar to that of the Brotherhood.”

“I don’t think I follow.”

“The Vault was, until recently, a closed system,” Elder Lyons explained. “With no one entering and leaving, family and lineage becomes very important. You can trace your own family line to before the Great War, can’t you?”

“Well…of course.” Seven generations of Almodovars had lived in and led the Vault. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand your meaning.”

“The Brotherhood is much the same way. Our order was founded by Roger Maxson, more than two hundred years ago. Today, his son is under our care, at the Citadel.” Amata waited. “As I see it, your Vault and our Order are in a similar situation, both in the context of the Capital Wasteland and in our greater concerns. We both seek to strengthen the region, and we both seek the continuation of our legacies.”

Realization dawned on her. “You’re talking about a political marriage,” she said. “Between me and…Maxson?”

“Arthur,” Sentinel Lyons growled.

“A marriage that would bind the Brotherhood and your Vault, to the benefit of both.” Elder Lyons nodded. “You appear to be a healthy young woman, and I can assure you that Arthur is a healthy young man. Your children would do both your lines proud.”

“I…I…” Amata knew her voice was calm, but inside her thoughts raced. _Marriage? To someone I’ve never met? Children? What about Lucas?_ She frowned. _But a formal alliance with the Brotherhood…that could be a huge benefit to the Vault. I always knew I’d get married and have little ones, but I assumed it’d be to Wally, or Freddie, or Paul, or even_ Butch _…wait a minute._ Amata cleared her throat. “I have to admit that it’s a very sudden offer, and a bit much to take in at once.”

“Of course,” Elder Lyons agreed. “The implications…”

“Staggering, yes.” Amata nodded. “I’d certainly appreciate some time to think it over. And while I don’t know anything about marriages in the Brotherhood, its customary here in the Vault for a man to provide a woman with an engagement ring when proposing.”

Elder Lyons’ eyebrows rose amusedly, a smile curving his lips. “I trust we’re not discussing jewelry.” 

Amata matched his smile, though hers was more cunning than amused. “We’re not. One of mine, Butch DeLoria…he was sent to Paradise Falls by Jackson. If he’s still alive, I’d like him returned to me. I’ll have my answer for you then.”

Sentinel Lyons and Paladin Cross shared a look. “Jackson sent your man to the Falls four _years_ ago,” Lyons said at length. “Chances of him still being there, or of being there and alive, are pretty slim.”

“Then I’d appreciate anything you can tell me about what happened to him,” Amata replied evenly. “He’s of the Vault. I have to know.”

“All right, Ms. Almodovar,” Elder Lyons said. “It will be a small matter for Sarah to recover your friend, if he is still alive.” Sentinel Lyons looked considerably less than thrilled at being volunteered. “And after that…?”

“After that I would be delighted to meet Arthur, and,” _oh God,_ “discuss the possibility of a wedding.”

*

At some point, before the Great War, Paradise Falls had been a shitty strip mall. After the bombs fell, it became a shitty village. After _that_ it became the (shitty) center of slaving for all the Capital Wasteland. And after a brief fling with legitimacy under Jackson’s League, the Falls was back to doing what it did best.

Sarah loathed Paradise Falls, and its pink-clad mistress.

“Sentinel Lyons, as I live and breathe!” Clover crowed, bowing to Sarah and the squad of Brotherhood paladins behind her. “It has been a _long_ time. Hasn’t it been a long time, Ella?” 

The woman standing behind Clover only nodded meekly. “Yes, mistress.” 

Clover laughed. “So what can I do for you, Ms. Lyons? Always happy to help my Brotherhood sister.”

“I’m looking for a man, from the Vault. Goes by the name of Butch.” Sarah felt her teeth grinding. “Jackson sent him here.”

“Butch, Butch…” Clover made a show of thinking it over. “I don’t think I know anyone by that name. Ella?”

“She’s talking about Louis, mistress.”

“Thaaaat’s right,” Clover grinned. “I might know where he is. Question is, how much is he worth to you?”

Her gleeful tone frayed the last of Sarah’s nerves. She reached into her belt, producing a small yellow cylinder and holding it up to Clover’s gaze. “This is a microfusion cell. Powers our armor, laser rifles, that sort of thing. Pretty common, you could get one for maybe three caps from any of the caravans walking around the Wastes.” She shouted over her shoulder. “Soldiers! How many cells are you carrying?”

“Ah…” the paladins behind her consulted. “We’ve got twenty-four, between the three of us,” the sergeant reported.

“And _I_ have another eight myself,” Sarah finished, putting the cell back in belt and drawing her rifle. “So, I’m willing to spend ninety-six caps to _burn this Goddamn place off the face of the Wastes_ …and to see just how much protection you get from that idiotic pink dress.”

“Well then.” The crazed, glib expression dropped off of Clover’s face, and Sarah grinned cruelly at her fear. _”LOUIS!”_ Sarah had met Butch during the mess of Jackson’s League. The man who emerged from the building behind Clover bore only the most passing of relationships with the man she’d known. He wore the ruins of pre-War sleepwear, and stumbled with the gait of a man who barely remembered how to stand up straight, let alone walk on his own. “He’s slightly used,” Clover allowed. “Wear and tear, the usual sort of thing. Here!” She grabbed Ella by the hair and propelling the yelping woman forward. “Take Ella with you. On the house. They’re kinda a matched set at this point, don’t want one of ‘em getting lonely.”

Sarah stared down coldly at Ella, collapsed in the dirt at her feet. “I don’t want her. She’s yours for as long as she lives, Clover.”

“Really?” Clover perked up. “You hear that, Ella? _Nobody_ wants you!” Ella bit back a sob, and Sarah shook her head contemptuously. _This is what you deserve for collaborating with the Enclave,_ she thought. _For threatening Arthur._ Clover wasn’t done with her yet. “Ooh! With Louis here gone, you’re gonna have to work _twice_ as hard! Why don’t you run back upstairs? I’ll be up just as soon as I see Ms. Lyons here off, and we’re going to have a _real_ good time.”

The paladins secured Butch, and Sarah led them all back to the Falls’ main gate. She’d anticipated his physical infirmity, and Butch made the trip back to Vault 101 in a Brahmin-pulled cart while the paladins kept pace on foot. Even so, the trek was hours under the broiling Wasteland sun, and then several more under the cold stars. 

Sarah was exhausted by the time the finally reached the Vault. _Do I want to go in there? No. Because if I go in there, I have to talk to the Overseer. I have to take her answer back to Father._ She glared up at the camera mounted over the massive blast door until the machinery inside the rock came to life, rolling the door aside.

“He needs a doctor,” Sarah said as the paladins helped Butch inside. The security guard, Richards spoke rapidly into his intercom, and more of the blue-and-yellow Vault citizens appeared to whisk Butch away. “And…I need to speak with your Overseer.”

Richards escorted Sarah down the Vault’s halls, and though the man’s nervous attitude irritated her, Sarah was thankful for his presence; every corridor and turn in the Vault looked identical to her, and she had serious doubts as to if she’d be able to find her way back out. Richards led Sarah to the dormitories, outside one of the rooms. Hesitantly, Sarah knocked on the door.

“Sentinel Lyons?” Amata had clearly recently awoken, hair a mess and eyes still bleary. “I heard you’d arrived, with…with Butch…” Sarah watched the other woman’s hands work, and fervently prayed she wasn’t about to be hugged again. “Thank you. I cannot thank you enough. Thank you for bringing Butch back to us.”

“I…” Sarah was taken aback. “Of course. The Elder gave an order.”

“Right. The Elder.” Something crossed Amata’s expression, some consideration, and she came to a decision. “I want to see Butch but…do you have time? To talk for a bit first?”

_No. And to hell with you._ “I imagine you have a message to pass along to my father.”

Amata stood aside, gesturing Sarah into her apartment. It was spacious, considering the tight confines of the Vault. “Being the Overseer must have its privileges,” Sarah commented drily. 

“My father was Overseer before me, these are our apartments. There were…problems with his tenure as Overseer.” Amata seated herself in one of the scoop chairs around the dining table. Sarah sat awkwardly on the sofa, the only piece of furniture in the room she judged as able to support the weight of her armor. “He still lives here with me now, but it’s…it’s different. He’s not well.” Sarah nodded stiffly, just waiting for the other woman to _say the damned words_ so she could leave. “I don’t know what to do about your father’s idea. About the marriage.”

_What?_ “What do you mean?”

“It’s just…” Amata’s hands fluttered, and for the first time Sarah realized just how _young_ Amata was. _She’s not even as old as I was when we fought the Enclave._ “I’m flattered, all right? First of all, I’m flattered. Honored. But I don’t know if I can _do_ this. Marrying someone, having children? I’m not ready for it.”

Sarah put a concerned look on her face and leaned forward. _She’s hesitating!_ “Maybe you shouldn’t go through with it.”

“You think so?” Amata wrung her hands. “It makes sense. The alliance. A lot of sense.”

“Not if you’re not certain about it,” Sarah replied. “You’re talking about marrying someone, and that’s for _life_. You haven’t even met him!” Amata nodded at that, worrying her lip. “He’s fifteen, Amata. He’s only lived around members of the Brotherhood…I can’t say I know how he’d react to someone from outside the chapter. To have the weight of not just the alliance, but the well-being of your Vault hanging on your marital happiness…” Sarah shrugged. "I don’t think _I_ could do it.”

“I don’t know what I think,” Amata said finally. She shook herself all over, rising quickly to her feet. “I’m sorry to have taken your time. I’m sure you want to get back to the Citadel. Please tell Elder Lyons…please tell him I’m sorry to delay. And that I’ll give him my answer soon.”

“I will,” Sarah answered, standing. She opened the door and stepped into the corridor before Amata’s voice stopped her.

“Sentinel Lyons? Sarah?”

“…yes, Overseer?”

Amata found her courage again. “I can tell that you and Arthur are close, just how you talk to him. If I do go through with this…I don’t know that I will, but if I do…I’d be honored to call you my sister.”

“Sister.” Sarah felt the smile frozen on her face. “Of course. An honor.”

*

Amata stood in front of her dresser mirror, and forced a wide smile onto her face. “Hello!” she exclaimed. “I’m Amata. Amata…” she faltered. “Amata Maxson?” It lacked the alliteration of ‘Almodovar.’ She tried again. “Mrs. Amata Maxson.”

Still no.

‘Day’ and ‘night’ were somewhat arbitrary in the Vault, what with the lack of sun, but Amata knew it was early morning. All night spent wrestling with the trouble of last names, and still nothing to show for it. Amata stepped out into the hall and let her feet move her towards the Vault’s classroom. She’d taken this walk more times than she could count, usually to find Soledad already in the classroom, awake before everyone else and diligently working on practice problems before class even started. Amata turned the corner into the classroom, hoping to see her friend in her accustomed spot.

“You’re up early, Amata.” Susie Mack walked down the row between desks, laying pencils and the day’s assignments on each. Amata seated herself in one of the chairs towards the front, head in her hands. “Uh-oh,” Susie said. “I know that look. Somebody hasn’t done their homework.”

“More like I haven’t studied for the test,” Amata said. “Or…prepared for the presentation. It’s a strained metaphor.”

Susie offered a sympathetic smile. “So you came back to the classroom to study?”

“Something like that.”

“It’s weird for me,” Susie said, sitting down behind her desk. “Look at me! I’m the _teacher._ No Mr. Brotch to be in charge, it’s just me. Same room, same me, but it’s…different. You’re the same Amata…”

“But I’m the Overseer.” Amata nodded. “I was thinking about Christine. You ever think about her?”

“Sometimes. I mean, we grew up with her, and then one day she goes outside and…” Susie toyed with the wooden carving of an apple on her desk, a keepsake of the Vault teachers since before living memory. “How long’s she been gone?”

“Four-odd years now,” Amata answered dully, staring at the chalkboard. “It occurred to me that…if we had someone on the outside, looking out for us, she might not have run into a radscorpion, or tried to drink the water, or been found by some raiders…God, that’s too horrible to think about.”

“You’re thinking that if you make this deal with the Brotherhood, we wouldn’t have to lose anyone else?”

Amata nodded. “They brought Butch back.”

“What’s left of him, at least.” Susie leaned over her desk, and Amata realized from the intensity of her inquisitive stare that Susie had developed into a very attentive teacher. “So why aren’t you jumping on this opportunity?”

“I don’t want to,” Amata admitted. The words hung in the air, and she slumped back in her chair. “I don’t want to marry a child. I barely have the energy to keep on top of everything in the Vault, let alone what’s going on outside. And I don’t know _who_ I want to spend my life with, but I want to make that choice out of happiness, not just…to seal an agreement. ‘Mrs. Amata Maxson.’” She scowled. “I _like_ Lucas! I mean, he eats these unfathomable things, but he’s a kind man. He listens, even when I talked to him about this absurd marriage. I can talk with him, I can _love_ him, and I’m not going to be able to do _any_ of that with the Maxson boy!”

“Listen to yourself,” Susie said. “Honestly, listen to yourself. You already know what you’re going to do.”

A wane smile crossed Amata’s lips. “Yeah. You’re right. All right.” Wearily, she rose to her feet. “Thank you, Susie.” 

“Mr. Brotch said that great teachers inspire as much as instruct,” Susie said with a shrug. “If it means anything, I hope you’re happy.”

Amata left the classroom, headed to the Vault’s main door. “Open it up,” she ordered, stepping up to the portal. 

Crossing the Wasteland without sleep was stupid at the best of times, but she found herself walking into Megaton without any real memory of how she got there. She found Lucas at the Brass Lantern, eating a breakfast of something indescribable and quintessentially _Wasteland._ Without a word Amata took his hand, leading him from his stool back to his shack. The door shut behind them and Amata caught the pull on her jumpsuit zipper and letting the fabric fall off her body. Lucas sat down hard on one of the chairs and Amata opened his pants, settling herself over his length.

They held each other like that for a long while, rocking back and forth in a quiet punctuated only by desperate, needy gasps. Amata clutched herself against him, welcoming the rush of release as it blustered over her and Lucas’ own low moan as he spent himself inside her. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, unable to meet his eyes as her shoulders convulsed. 

After a moment Amata mastered herself, and leaned up to whisper in his ear. “I’m going to marry the Brotherhood boy,” she breathed, tears blurring her vision. “I’m so sorry.” 

She felt his arms encircle her bare body, hugging her close. “I know. There wasn’t ever a chance of you doing different. You’re the Overseer, and you have to go.” 

Amata separated from him then, pulling her Vault jumpsuit back into place. She paused at the door to look back to him. “I’m so, so sorry. Goodbye.”

*

In another minute or two, Glade would begin to wander back down the hall and Sarah knew that if he saw her he would have a number of very reasonable questions about what she was doing lurking around the barracks in the dead of night, kitted out for an expedition into the Wastes. Sarah was very interested in not answering those questions, not until she was far, far away.

The door to Arthur’s quarters slid open quietly, and she crept inside. Arthur was asleep in his bed, but he woke quickly at her touch. “Get dressed,” she whispered quickly. “We need to go. Right now.” To his credit, the boy didn’t ask any questions, getting his squire’s uniform in place even as Glade’s slow, measure steps sounded down the hall. Sarah held up her finger for silence, and when Glade turned the corner she ushered Arthur out of the room and downstairs. 

“Where are we going?” Worry was obvious in his tone as he followed her. 

“Some place safe.” Sarah led the way into the maintenance tunnels beneath the Citadel, and to the escape tunnel.

“Why isn’t it safe?” Arthur demanded. “I’m supposed to have a wedding tomorrow, and if my Amata is in any danger-”

“She is almost _twice_ your age, Arthur,” Sarah snapped, directing him down the damp concrete tunnel. “I know her kind. She’s dangerous, to you. You’ll be safe with me.” They emerged above ground some distance to the south of the Citadel. “I know some people we can stay with. It’ll be weird, for a while, but I promise you it’s for the best.”

“Like _him?”_ Arthur gaped. Protector Casdin stood a few dozen feet away, his red and black armor almost invisible in the night. 

“Yes,” Sarah said. “Like him.”

“Hello, Arthur,” Casdin said, crouching down. “Sarah here asked us to take you in for a while. It’s all right, there’s just some things the adults need to get sorted-”

“You’re _Outcast!”_ Arthur shouted. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” 

“Arthur. We don’t have time for this,” Sarah snapped. “We’re going to Fort Independence for a while, until I can talk with Father…”

“No! I’m not going there!” Arthur turned on his heel and _bolted_ , racing back towards the Citadel. “Help! Help!”

Sarah took off after him, Casdin chugging behind her. _Please don’t let him trip and break his leg in the dark!_ “Arthur! Arthur, come back here this moment!” He was _fast_ , and after a moment she realized he was far enough ahead that she didn’t hear his footsteps anymore. _“Arthur!”_

She saw him then, two hundred feet ahead and surrounded by hulking, power armored figures. He was shouting, pointing at her, and Sarah’s heart stopped as she recognized them. _Oh God no. Father, and the entourage sent to escort the Overseer for the wedding. Brotherhood and Vault security both._

“That’s far enough,” one of the paladins said, rifle raised. 

“Father, I can…” Sarah swallowed. “I can explain.”

Elder Lyons’ expression was unreadable in the faint moonlight. “Can you, Sarah?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed as Casdin caught up behind her. “How could you _do_ this to him? We can’t just sell Arthur off to some…to…to…” she sputtered. “I won’t let another outsider put a collar around his neck. It was _horrible_ when Jackson did it, and I won’t see it happen again!” She couldn’t see their expressions in the darkness. The Vault woman was sneering at her, she just knew it. “I have to keep him safe!”

“I wish I’d realized,” the older Lyons said. “I wish I’d understood how you saw Arthur. He’s not yours, Sarah.”

“I helped raise him,” she said desperately.

“Children have to grow up, Sarah,” her father said, sorrowfully. “And that means you have to let them go.” He nodded to Casdin. “You arranged a place for yourself with the Outcasts. That’s good. Your…your selfishness is a disgrace to the Brotherhood. Don’t try to come back.”

Sarah tried to force the storm of feelings she felt into words, but all that came out was a trembling “Father…please…”

Casdin spoke up. “Owen. That you’ve defied the Codex and our mission is bad enough, but to tarnish the Maxson legacy with some Vault trash? It’s unconscionable.”

“Whether you agree with it or not, it’s for the best,” Elder Lyons said, shaking his head. “Whether or not you like it, the marriage will take place.” 

Casdin drew his laser pistol and fired a shot into the Overseer. “Good luck with that,” he called over his shoulder, walking off into the darkness.

Sarah watched in horror as Amata crumpled to the ground with a cry…and Arthur rushed to her side. The paladins moved to block her even as she took a step towards them. “Don’t try it, Lyons.”

“But I _have_ to-”

“You have to do nothing, Sarah.” Her father called, already assessing the Overseer’s injury. Sarah wavered for a moment, torn between the threat of the paladin’s laser rifles driving her away and her refusal to abandon Arthur. It was his thin, high voice that decided the matter for her.

“How could you _do_ that to her, Sarah? She’s gonna be my wife!”

Sarah turned on her heel and ran after Casdin, trying with all her strength to make it into the darkness before completely losing control of herself.

*

The bride wore white bandages for her wedding.

The Brotherhood doctors told Amata that the wound wasn’t severe; the blast blackened her skin and burned her ribs, but missed anything vital. Amata, having never been shot before, thought that anything that seared her flesh and _hurt_ so much was fairly severe. Still, she struggled into her best Vault suit and accepted the bundle of thorny flowers Susie pressed into her hand with the best smile she could fake.

Her father met her outside the Citadel’s rude chapel. They didn’t exchange any words or advice; fatherhood had been a perfunctory task at the best of times, and since Amata became Overseer Alphonse simply had nothing to say to anyone, least of all the daughter who had succeeded him. He led her through a crowd of friends and loved ones from the Vault, off-duty scribes and paladins, even a handful of settlers from Megaton as a nod to the connections Elder Lyons was interested in building.

Both the Vault citizens and the Brotherhood had their rituals, and Amata spoke some familiar words, followed by some unfamiliar words. Elder Lyons smiled at her kindly before motioning to the boy next to her, and Arthur awkwardly slid a ring of steel on to her finger. She recognized the wings, cog and sword of the Brotherhood etched into the band as she let the light play on it. Applause rose behind her, and Amata built a smile on her lips as she took her husband’s hand and turned.

“Congratulations Amata!” Paul Hannon said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Six years ago we wouldn’t even know any of this existed, and now look at you! Overseer and queen of the Capital Wasteland!” 

“This will be good for us, Paul,” she replied with a ready smile. “The Vault will be stronger for it.”

Behind him one of the scribes clicked on a radio, and tinny strains of music drifted through the room: _“Living for you is easy…”_

Arthur tugged on her hand, exactly like the fifteen year old boy he was. “Amata, you’ve gotta meet some people!” He dragged Amata to group of Brotherhood soldiers, all smaller without their armor. “This is Vargas! He’s in command of the Lyons’ Pride since…since…”

“The ‘Lyons’ in our name refers to the Elder these days, ma’am,” Vargas offered. “I don’t know what came over Sarah, and I’m sorry you got caught up in our internecine bickering.”

“Seems like it’s my bickering, too,” Amata said, “what with being part of the family now.”

_”I never regret the years that I’m giving/They’re easy to give when you’re in love/I’m happy to do whatever I do for you.”_

“An’ this is Stepford! He’s a really good shot, he’s the best shot I’ve ever seen!”

“High praise indeed,” Amata replied, accepting Stepford’s hand.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Maxson,” Stepford said. She gifted him with a tight nod before allowing Arthur to pull her to the next cluster of paladins. If Stepford looked particularly pleased at the ceremony and how well the Brotherhood and Vault citizens got along, she didn’t notice or particularly care.

After a few more enthusiastic introductions, Amata managed to separate herself from Arthur. Through the mass of people she spotted Lucas and Moira, alone in the crowed of numbered jumpsuits and robes. Moira tackled her with a squeal: “Oh, I am just so _happy_ for you, I think I’m going to add a chapter to my book about Wasteland weddings, you two just looked so _perfect_ up there…” She gasped. “Are you thinking of having babies?”

“Some day, Moira,” Amata said. “I think Arthur’s a little young yet.”

“Amata,” Lucas said, taking her hand to examine her ring. “Don’t think there’s much I have to offer you, especially compared to all the Brotherhood’s got…”

“Stop,” she whispered.

“…but if there’s anything I can do, let me know. I’ll come runnin’.”

Her smiling mask faltered, for just a moment. “Thank you.”

_“Darling, it’s grand/They just don’t understand…”_

Amata stepped out into the hall, and the reception continued without her as she knew it would. The collar of her Vault jumpsuit was _tight_ all of a sudden. She dug a finger under, pulling desperately for air, but the sensation only stayed with her for a few moments before she stomped it back deep down inside of her.

_“Living for you is easy living/It’s easy to live when you’re in love/And I’m so in love/There’s nothing in life…but you.”_

Susie poked her head out in to the hall. “Amata? Everything all right?”

“Wonderful. Don’t worry about me.” With that, the Overseer straightened her shoulders and stepped back into the reception.

*

Sarah sat alone in a dark, dirty room, clad only in a thin shirt and pants. Her armor lay scattered across the floor, and she stared dimly at it. A laser pistol weighed heavy in her hand, and Sarah mechanically ejected its energy cell and slotted it back into place again and again.

“If you’re going to use that on yourself, I’d ask that you do it outside. We have enough trouble keeping the place clean without having to scrub your brains off the walls.”

Sarah’s eyes slid to the door, and Protector Casdin leaning against the frame. “Certainly don’t want to trouble you,” she said, lumbering to her feet and towards the door. Casdin didn’t move to let her pass, and she leveled the pistol at his face. “Move.”

“Join us.”

“What?” Sarah’s aim wavered, just for a moment. “You’re _Outcasts._ ”

“Turns out you are, too,” Casdin replied. “Kicked out by your father, just like the rest of us. And for what?”

_For trying to protecting Arthur from an outsider._ “It doesn’t matter now.” 

“I don’t think so. You’re a Brotherhood paladin, and we have a mission. We’ve always had a mission.” Casdin pushed the emitter of her pistol towards the floor. “Even if we’ve been _betrayed_ by the man who was supposed to lead us. There’s still work to be done. Technology to be gathered, a Codex to uphold…”

Sarah folded her arms. “How the hell are we supposed to do any of that with the Citadel against us? We can’t even get close without getting shot at.” 

“We’ve got ways, Sarah. We’ve been carrying out the mission for _years_ now right under your nose…now I want your help to keep doing it.” Casdin cocked an eyebrow. “And who knows, if the opportunity comes maybe we can do something about the Vault woman Owen wants to dilute the Maxson line with.”

Sarah crouched down, laying her laser pistol on the ground and hefting her armor’s helmet. She showed it to Casdin, still leaning against the doorframe. “I’m going to need some red paint.”


End file.
